


Little sparks of wire in the air

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Series: Songs from the Jukebox [Prompt Fills] [68]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, Jukebox Prompt, M/M, POV David Rose, Prompt Fill, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29014155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: "What's wrong?" David can feel his voice rising, worsening the pounding in his head. "I have a fuckingtattoo,that's what's wrong!"
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Songs from the Jukebox [Prompt Fills] [68]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775569
Comments: 49
Kudos: 162





	Little sparks of wire in the air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schittyfic (sixtysevenlmpala)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/gifts).



> For the INCREDIBLE prompt “David and Patrick are on holiday and get drunken tattoos.” As always with Jukebox prompts it’s unedited, barely reread, and written on my phone, so apologies for what I’m sure is a multitude of errors.
> 
> I feel compelled to note that getting a tattoo under the influence would not fly at any, like, even semi-reputable tattoo shop. But hey, it's fanfic 😂 
> 
> Title is from Jonathan Coulton.

Like it usually does after one too many shots, awareness comes back to David by degrees. First it's the pounding in his head, a horrible combination of hangover and standing too close to the speakers so that not only was the bass thumping through him the entire night, but he and Patrick and Stevie all had to basically scream in each others' ears to make themselves heard; next is the dry mouth, a sign that he forgot to have a glass of water before collapsing in bed last night, which is surprising because Patrick always insists; the nausea rolling through his stomach, reminding him that he's too fucking old to drink like he did in his twenties; the sharp stinging pain on his arm—

Wait.

What?

Blearily, David forces his eyes open, blinking until his vision clears. Thankfully someone had the good sense to drop the blackout curtain in their motel room, so his stomach stays relatively settled as he slowly brings his right wrist up to his eyeline — and is immediately assaulted by three garish colours. 

When David first found the word _pansexual,_ it had fit in a way none of the other terms quite had (except queer, which was glorious in its lack of specificity). It had slid into place, and he'd wrapped it around himself — metaphorically, because there was one problem with it, and that was the _flag._ It was just too much for David's carefully curated monochromatic aesthetic.

But now, inked indelibly on his wrist, is the pink and yellow and blue he's always avoided.

"What," David says, far too loud in the otherwise silent room, "in the fuck."

From his right, there's an indistinguishable groan that David nonetheless identifies immediately as Patrick's.

"Honey, wake up." He holds out his hand to shake Patrick's shoulder, then thinks better of it when the movement flexes the delicate skin on his wrist and makes him wince. He reaches over his body with his left hand instead, not managing a shake so much as an ungainly nudge. "Wake up, something's happened."

"Wassamatter?" Usually, of the two of them, Patrick is in much worse shape after a night of drinking; he hasn't had the years of hardening his liver the way David has. Still, the panic in David's voice is enough to get him rolling over — even if the pallor on his face reveals what an effort it was once he's finally facing David, and even if he swallows hard before he speaks as if to make sure only the words come out. "David, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" David can feel his voice rising, worsening the pounding in his head. "I have a fucking _tattoo,_ that's what's wrong!"

"What?" Patrick half-laughs as he reaches over towards David, the comforting gesture aborted as Patrick gets a strange look on his face. He glances down at his wrist, puzzled, and David follows his gaze.

A long silence follows, until Patrick finally breaks it with a simple, "Huh."

"Huh? _Huh?_ We're both _maimed,_ oh my god these are so visible, matching tattoos are so tacky—"

"Technically they're not _matching_ tattoos."

David glares at the rainbow flag adorning his husband's wrist, but before he can say anything else, Stevie interrupts. "Will you two shut the fuck up so I can die in peace?"

"You have your own room, why the fuck are you in ours?"

"God, you think I remember _anything_ from last night?" She pulls herself up off the couch, stumbling towards the bathroom, but a flash of colour makes David grab her elbow to stop her moving past the bed.

"Um, care to explain why you have _this?"_ He tugs her arm around so Patrick can also see the pink, purple and blue in the same place as their own tattoos. "I thought you only _drank red wine?"_

"Have you seriously never wondered why Alexis stays at my place and not yours when she visits?" 

While David tries to process this, Stevie yanks her hand free and backs away, rushing to the bathroom before either of them can object.

It takes a minute for David to find his voice through his shock. "We will be discussing this when we're sober!"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com/).


End file.
